


Tale As Old As Stone

by badskippy



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast, Eventual Happy Ending, Hobbits, Love, M/M, One True Pairing, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Thorin is Smaug is Thorin, True Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-17 00:21:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3508106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badskippy/pseuds/badskippy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, in a land far away and long forgotten, there dwelled a mighty kingdom of Dwarfs.  Stronger than the solitary mountain they inhabited, the great nation was ruled by an even greater King; Thorin, known as Oakenshield.  Although he had all the gold and gems his heart could desire, he was still selfish, greedy and unkind to other races.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beetle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/gifts), [northerntrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/northerntrash/gifts), [bubbysbub](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubbysbub/gifts), [b_blueberry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/b_blueberry/gifts), [Neeka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neeka/gifts).



> In this 'vision' of Middle-Earth, The Ring was destroyed by Isildur and therefore, there is little evil in the world. The Hobbits never ventured over the Misty Mountains so The Shire is their ancestral home, the area near Beorn's place, right next to The Greenwood on the Aduin River. Also, The Greenwood is still green, but there are spiders rather than wolves.

* * *

 

 

            It was well known that the race of Men told tales as tall and preposterous as themselves, while it was equally well known that the Elves sang epic songs as haughty and pompous as was their nature, and most could tell you that Hobbits wove stories as intertwining and intricate as a market basket.

            But, if you asked anyone, they all knew that the Dwarves keep their stories secret and close to their hearts, and never shared with others.

            At least, most of their stories ….

 

\---oooOOO888OOOooo---

 

            Once upon a time, in a land far away and long forgotten, there dwelled a mighty kingdom of Dwarves.  Stronger than the solitary mountain they inhabited, the great nation was ruled by an even greater King; Thorin, known as Oakenshield.

            Although he had all the gold and gems his heart could desire, he was still selfish, greedy and unkind to other races. 

            One night, an old beggar woman came to the gates of the kingdom and offered the great king a simple, polished stone in exchange for shelter from the bitter cold.   Sneering at the worthless stone in her hands, he turned the old woman away.  But she warned him, not to be so deceived, because worth cannot be measured by outward appearances.   But when the king, still unmoved, dismissed the old woman for a second time, her ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful Elven Witch of immeasurable power.

            The Dwarf-king tried to apologize but it was no good, for she had seen that his heart was filled with greed and lust in his desire to possess more riches. 

            As punishment, The Elven Witch transformed the king into a hideous and monstrous beast and placed a powerful spell upon the mountain kingdom and all who lived there.  Ashamed of his grotesque form, he hid himself in the treasury, surrounded by the very thing that had brought his ruin; gold.

            The stone she offered, however, was truly an enchanted stone.  From the moment of his transformation, the stone began to glow with an inner light all it’s own; it would continue to shine for one hundred years or until he found the one person in all the world that he could love more than his gold and who, in turn, could love him for himself.  Only then would he and his people be free.  If not, then the Dwarrow were all doomed to remain as they were for all eternity.

            As the passing days turned to months, the months became years, and the years receded into memory, the stone began to slowly dim as no one came forth from any race to win the king’s heart, and the once proud and mighty Dwarf fell into despair and lost all hope.

            For who could ever learn to love a beast.

 

 

 


	2. A Small Provincial Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the middle of the earth, in the land of the Shire, There's a brave little hobbit whom ... someone in particular admires a great deal. Too much in fact.

* * *

 

           

            “Yoo-hoo!” a rather shrill voice split the morning peace.  “Bilbo!”

            Bilbo Baggins came to a dead stop on Bag Shot row; so quick in fact that the market basket dangling on his arm teetered back and forth as he froze.   He knew that voice only too well and after a quick swallow and deep breath was he able to plaster a smile on his face and turn around.

            “Good morning, Lobelia,” Bilbo said as convincingly as he could.

            Lobelia Bracegridle, the young lady in question, came trotting up and it was all Bilbo could do not to squint at the Canary yellow and Royal purple dress she was wearing; it made his eyes water.

            “You weren’t thinking of going off to the market alone,” Lobelia said with a smile that seemed almost feral.  She hooked her one free arm, the one not holding her umbrella, through his free one and steered them both towards the morning market.  “Were you?”

            _I was going to go alone, yes_ , Bilbo thought before saying, “I’m just popping out for some butter and eggs.”

            “Oh no!” Lobelia stated—melodramatically in Bilbo’s opinion.   “How could you run out of staples like those?!”

            _Oh no, here we go._   “Well, I’ve been busy in the garden this past week—”

            “I would gladly help you.”

            _Yavanna forbid._   “—and Mother only got back last night—”

            “She’s too old to be off adventuring.”

            _Don’t let her hear you say that._   “—and I just forgot to watch the pantry—”

            “You really need someone to help you around the house.”

            _No, I really don’t._   “—so needless to say, I’m going off to the market to get a few things.”

            Lobelia just ‘tsked’ and shook her head as if running out of eggs and butter were the worst things to happen since Dobbert Merryweather caught his hair on fire while visiting the forge and ended up dunking his whole head in the rain barrel next to The Green Dragon.

            “You know what you need?” Lobelia asked with a sticky smile.

            _A concussion?_ Bilbo’s head was starting to ache.

            “You need a wife and companion,” Lobelia answered.

            Bilbo almost groaned.  _Unless it was a wife with a few extra dangly bits that females aren’t normally born with, I so don’t need a wife.  Now, a companion—a male companion—that might be nice._ “I don’t really think—”

            “True, you don’t,” Lobelia said a sigh.

            _Not what I meant._    “—I would have the time for a wife.  What with Mum—”

            “She’d love a daughter-in-law.”

            _Not you._   “—gone so much, and me having to care for the gardens and vineyard—”

            “You could sell the vineyard.”

            _How ever would I endure your visits without wine?_   “—I would end up neglecting her.”  _That sounds reasonable._

            But if there was one thing that Lobelia Bracegridle wasn’t, it was reasonable.   “Why Bilbo, you silly thing, a wife would be invaluable to your daily routine!”

            _I kind of value my wifeless routine as it is._   “It’s certainly something to think about.”

            Lobelia continued to talk in the same vein as they came to the market and no matter what Bilbo did or said, there was no escaping her.  At least there wasn’t until Bilbo had just finished paying for two huge containers of butter and six dozen eggs when there was a small—well, explosion—heard from the direction of Bag End.

            “What _ever_ is your mother doing up there?!” Lobelia asked hotly.

            “I … I … I don’t know,” Bilbo stammered, but was finally able to free himself from Lobelia’s clutches because of her dismay.  “I really have to run.  It was … uhm … lovely to see you, Lobelia.  Good-bye.”  Bilbo took off like a scared rabbit, sprinting his way back up the hill.

            Lobelia watched as Bilbo took off for home; her smiling deflating quicker than a soufflé; her mood turning as sour as warm milk.

            “Having a spot of trouble, are you, Lobelia?”  A smug voice sounded from behind.

            Lobelia pursed her lips; she didn’t need to turn around to know that Helga Chubb was smirking.  “That idiot Baggins is too delusional to see how perfect I am for him!”

            “Are you sure he is the one deluded?”  Helga quipped quietly.

            “Of course he is,” Lobelia retorted with a huff.  “Why else would he continuously fail to realize that only I am perfect to be mistress of Bag End?”

            “Maybe because his mother already has that title?”

            Lobelia turned a narrow-eyed look and oily smile to her ‘friend.’  “Nothing lasts forever.”

 

 

 


	3. The Mistress of Bag End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luck ... don't leave home without it.

* * *

 

 

            “Mum!”  Bilbo called out as he swung open the door of Bag End and rushed in; a cloud of smoke and the acrid smell of burning hanging in the air.  “MUM!” Bilbo shouted even louder and he hurried to open the huge window in the front parlour.

            The sound of coughing and hacking reached his ears and through the dark vapor the familiar form of Belladonna Baggins emerged out of the kitchen, waving her hands to move the smoke out of her face; which was covered in a gas-mask like contraption.

            “Home so quickly, dear?” Belladonna stated sweetly in a hoarse voice, and sounding generally surprised at Bilbo’s reappearance.

            “What happened?!”  Bilbo asked, coughing himself and waving his own arms to try and ‘direct’ the swirling cloud out the window.

            “I don’t know,” Belladonna said, removing her face mask and coughing.  Her hair was a frizzy mass about her head and there was flour and soot over her clothes and parts of her face that hadn’t been covered by her mask.  “I put in some quick rise breads in the over and I guess I put too many; one of them must have risen up and blocked the chimney.  Next thing I know … BOOM!”

            “Are you hurt?!” Bilbo moved through the thinning haze to open the kitchen window.

            “Oh, no!” Belladonna stated brightly all the while coughing.  “I’m fine.”

            _Wish I could say the same for the stove_ , Bilbo thought.  Now that he could look, it was indeed filled to the brim with Belladonna’s famous quick rise breads and, yes, the chimney was totally blocked.

            Belladonna Baggins was not the best cook and baker in Hobbiton. 

            She wasn’t the best in The Shire. 

            She wasn’t even the best in all of the Anduin Valley. 

            She was the best damn cook and baker in all of Arda!  Literally she had devotees of her meat pies, her quick rise breads, her jams, jellies and preserves, not to mention the red and white wines from the Baggins’ Vineyard, in every city from Dale to the Grey Havens, from Rivendell to the Woodland Realm, from Gondor to Rohan!  And they paid handsomely.  Sadly though, Belladonna would not allow anyone but Bilbo to help her, least her recipes fall into the hands of others.  That meant that despite all Belladonna’s and Bilbo’s efforts, they were not rich by any means; barely hanging on truth be told.

            But then no one around them even suspected.

            After cleaning up the oven and completely airing out Bag End, the butter and eggs were delivered and Bilbo and Belladonna set to work remaking the breads she had started, as well as several more batches of cookies, a few more meat pies, a couple of cakes and labeling the dozens of jars of preserves and jellies Bilbo had completed over the last few days while Belladonna was gone.

            It was during their time in the kitchen that Bilbo had to ask something that had been sneaking up on him since he came home.

            “Mum,” Bilbo said, kneading a loaf of bread, “Do you think I should marry?”

            “Well, of course, dear, if you are in love,” Belladonna answered sweetly as she wrote out the fancy labels for her raspberry jam.  Belladonna suddenly looked up excited.  “Have you a beau you are keeping secret from me?!”

            Bilbo shook his head.  “No.  There’s no one … in particular … I was just wondering if maybe … I mean, would … would it help—”

            “Bilbo,” Belladonna was on her feet and turning her boy to her in seconds.  “If and when you marry, marry for love.”

            _Fat chance._   “But I hate to see you—”

            “Don’t bring me into this,” Belladonna said firmly.  “This has to be your choice, of course, but make it for yourself and no one else.”

            Bilbo hated the idea of marrying someone he didn’t like, let alone didn’t love, but he was tired of seeing his mother struggle.  “But, if I were to marry someone … someone like …” _Go on just say it._   “Someone like Lobelia—”

            “You’d be miserable before the vows were even read,” Belladonna stated without question.  “A marriage without love is not a marriage at all.”

            He knew she was right but he still couldn’t help but wonder, if she was eased by his marriage to a woman, then why should he not?  Was it really that much of a sacrifice when no male had ever looked at him twice.  Mad Baggins they called him and, maybe, they had a point after all.

            “Enough talk about this,” Belladonna said.  “Let’s finish tonight so I can set out in the morning.”

            “But you only got home yesterday?” Bilbo would have liked to see her rest more before venturing out.

            “I know, I know, but,” Belladonna had that gleam in her eye, “I have heard that the Elvenking of Greenwood is particularly fond of fine wines!  If I can get him to sample our best vintage, we may be able to procure a steady trade!  That could solve all our problems!”

            Bilbo sighed.  Maybe it could.  But then, maybe it couldn’t; the Elves were some of the best wine makers in all the land.  What hope did they have of even getting an audience with the Elvenking?   Slim to none.

            Yet, Bilbo wouldn’t take his mother’s hope away for anything.

            “Okay,” Bilbo smiled and Belladonna returned it.  “Let’s get you ready.”

           

\---oooOOO888OOOooo---

 

            Come mid-day the next day, with the cart stuff full of baked goods and crates of wines, Bilbo hooked the cart up to Myrtle, their faithful pony, and Belladonna climbed up in the driver’s seat; ready to take on the world.

            “Wish me luck, love,” Belladonna called as she pulled away from the smial.

            “You don’t need luck,” Bilbo called back with a laugh, which earned him a laugh in return.

           

            Oh, but how wrong they were.  Very soon, Belladonna would need all the luck she could get.

 

 

 


	4. The Road Goes On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had thought I gave this story up ... how wrong I was!!

* * *

 

 

            “Now,” Belladonna said, looking over her map, “where in the dickens _are we_?”

            Myrtle the pony turned her head, looking over her shoulder at her mistress sitting in the cart’s seat. The look on the sweet pony’s face spoke volumes of, _‘You’re asking the horse where you are?!’_

Belladonna turned the map this way and that, and then back around again. Before long, she folded it up completely and then unfolded it once more in the vain idea that somehow, that would make all the difference.     

            It didn’t.        

            She had to face the truth; she was hopeless with maps. She always had been really. If she had set out without looking a map or even without a clear idea where to go, she’d always, _always,_ end up right where she needed to be. But glance at a map drawn by another, just once, and she was lost.

            Lost like she was now.

            Everyone had told her, repeatedly and firmly, that if she was going to dare travel the road through Mirkwood, she be well advised _not to dare_ to leave the Elven road.

            But it just seemed to disappear!

            “Well,” Belladonna said with a sigh as she folding the map up once more and stowing it away. “No use sneezing over spilt flour, now. “ Sitting up straight and squaring her shoulders, she put a bright smile on her face and clicked her tongue to get Myrtle moving again. “Forward we go, my dear.”

            Myrtle gave Belladonna another look over her shoulder and would have gladly given Belladonna a raised eyebrow in return, but move forward the pony did.

            A few hours later, just when Myrtle was getting really tired of pulling the full cart over gnarled tree roots and uneven ground, just as the sun was starting to descend below the tops of the trees, there suddenly appeared a clear road before them.

            “I knew we’d find it!” Belladonna cheered, knowing no such thing. “We just had to keep going.”

            “What’s the matter, dear?” Belladonna said as Myrtle came to a complete stop.

            This path looked different; _was_ different.   When they first entered the forest, the Elven road was old and made of small, parchment-colored cobbled stones.  But this road was paved in large, grey stones of equal size. The Elven road had a lovely, random design to the stone's layout, but these stones were all symmetrical and set in a grid. And while this new path was flat and clear of moss and debris, the trees were thicker and the sky was blocked completely, giving the way forward a dark and gloomy feel.

            Myrtle didn’t like it.            

            Myrtle didn’t like it, _at all!_

            “Come, old girl,” Belladonna urged. “The only way out is the way through.”

            _‘Then you pull the bloody cart,’_ Myrtle seemed to think but obviously could not express. Yet with a snort and bray, she took a tentative step forward and then another and then another, and before she knew it, they were making their way down the road.

            If Belladonna had any reservations about their current situation, she didn’t voice them aloud. She merely sat in the cart, humming a little ditty that Bilbo had made up about roads going on and on, and following said road and all that nonsense. But, if Myrtle were able to admit it in words, she would say she was relieved; she was slowly feeling better. There wasn’t anything to worry about.

            Nothing that is, until the first spider fell from the branches behind them.

            Belladonna and Myrtle both turned at the same moment the foul creature raised its front legs, hissing. They stood there frozen, even as the thing took a step and then another towards them.

            However, when the second spider scuttled it’s way down a nearby tree and joined the first, both mistress and pony let out their own versions of the same scream!

            Myrtle turned tail and ran for it!

            Belladonna hung on as tight as she could, what with the cart bouncing and swaying and skidding this way and that, Myrtle letting loose with great snorts of breath as she galloped as fast as she could and bottles of wine rattling about behind her. She didn’t even hear, or at least acknowledge or care, that a few of the bottle broke as the smashed into each other.

            Belladonna looked back only once. Behind now were at least six or eight spiders, it was hard to tell what with them running zig-zaggy across the road behind her and all those legs pumping fast to carry them closer and closer and closer to the cart. She would even swear she heard them hissing and screeching as they raced along in the cart’s ever dwindling wake.

            There were almost upon them!

            Then, Myrtle turned a bend in the road and suddenly the forest feel away and before them lay a long, wide road of stone that led straight ahead, at least a mile or more, to a single, solitary mountain. The rapidly darkening, lavender colored sky made the mountain appear almost purple; majestic in a way.

            Yet, as majestic as the mountain looked, Myrtle obviously had no intention of slowing down. Even after Belladonna chanced a look back and saw that the spiders were no longer pursuing them, unwilling to venture beyond the edge of the forest, did Myrtle show any sign of slowing.

            “Easy, girl, easy!” Belladonna cried as she pulled back on the reins.

            By the time Myrtle obeyed, they were almost to the mountain itself. Belladonna could now see, looming before them, great gates of wrought metal, several dozen meters high.          

            “They must be iron,” Belladonna whispered, unaware she was talking aloud. But there was no denying she was right; great streaks of rust ran down the gates. Also, she could see a door built into the gate; three times as high as she was tall and almost twice as wide as Bag End’s round door.

            The sky was turning an inky color and the wind had picked up; night was closing in.

            “I doubt anyone is home,” Belladonna said dryly, sliding down from the spring seat. Despite her statement, she had no delusion that they should find shelter and quickly. She stepped up to the gate’s door and knocked.

            Nothing.

            She soon realized that the raven figure she thought was decoration was, in fact, a knocker. Gripping it tightly, it actually took little effort to use it. The resounding echo of the knock sounded from the other door and seemed to go on and on and on.      

            She thought of trying it one more time, harder this time, as hard as she could, when unexpectantly, the gate door swung open a crack. Belladonna jumped back, unsure what was going to come out, but – nothing did. Inching forward, she took a breath, held it and pushed; the door swung open and revealed only darkness within.

            Not exactly welcoming, but she’d take it. “Come on, my dear.” Belladonna unhooked Myrtle from the cart and led the pony over the threshold. She worried about closing the door, although it would cut the wind, but they wouldn’t be able to see a thing if she did; the only illumination was the dusky sky outside.

            She was just about to give up and make a bed for herself and Myrtle right there by the gate door, when she spied a torch, unused, attached to the wall a few meters from her. Quickly grabbing it, she fished out some matches and lit the thing. Blessed light filled the area and Belladonna closed the door, shutting the night out.

            Feeling better being inside and protected, she reached into her pack again and pulled out a nice apple for Myrtle.

            “We’ll be safe here tonight.” Belladonna gave the pony a gentle pat on the neck before turning around and holding the torch high above her head.

            They were in a large room.

            Well, it was more like a hall, really. Rectangular in shape, there were six columns down either side, gigantic in scale, higher than the gates themselves, but it was easy to see that there were open doorways leading off both sides; a receiving hall most likely.  And an abandoned one at that; there were rocks of various sizes scattered all over the place, but not a soul in sight, unless one counted the two statutes that flanked a square opening at the far end of the hall from her.  

            Belladonna sighed. No one home indeed. “It seems we are alone, Myrtle.”

            The hair on Belladonna’s neck prickled up when a deep, disembodied voice refuted her statement, with, “Not quite.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can thank the new trailer for Disney's live-action "Beauty and The Beast" for inspiring me to continue this ...


	5. Over His Dead Body

* * *

 

 

            Bilbo hummed to himself as he went about his chores. He often had a song to hum, mostly ones he made up himself, but it helped to pass the time and the chores felt more like fun than work.

            Well, not really, but he told himself they were.

            He was just finishing his scrubbing of the kitchen table when there came a loud, obtrusive knock. How strange. He hadn’t invited anyone to drop by and no relatives had written to say they would be passing through for a visit; he had no idea who it could be.

            When the knock was repeated, he quickly wiped his hands on a dish towel, threw on his waistcoat that he’d folded over the back of his late-father’s chair, and hurried to the door, running his fingers through his hair so that he looked at least respectable if not completely presentable.

            Just as the a third, louder knock sounded he peered through the door’s peephole and suppressed a groan.

            Lobelia.

            Bilbo closed his eyes, took a deep, steadying breath, cursed his horrid luck and put on his best fake smile, just as he opened the door.

            “Good afternoon, Lobelia,” Bilbo said, hoping it didn’t sound as tight as he face felt.

            “Bilbo, sweetie,” Lobelia said, stepping over the threshold that she had, most definitely not been invited over.

            “To what do I owe this ...” _unfortunate turn of events_ , “... surprise?” Bilbo asked, keeping a good arm’s length between them, as Lobelia advanced into the smial.

            “Oh ... I was just ....” Lobelia ran a finger over the hall table.

            _I just dusted that, thank you!_

            “... in the neighborhood,” Lobelia said, rubbing the non-existent dust off her fingertips. “Thought I’d drop by.”

            “Ah,” Bilbo said, feeling cornered. “That was very ...” _presumptuous_ , “... nice of you.”

            “It _was,_ wasn’t it?!” Lobelia said with a giggle; sounding very much like a lark with laryngitis.

            “Would you ...” _care to be shown the door_ , “... care for some tea?”

            “You know,” Lobelia said, ignoring Bilbo and forcing him further back, into the front parlour, “You are a very ... _very ..._ lucky man.”

            _How can that be? You’re here!_    “Whatever do you mean?” Bilbo asked.

            “Many eligible men in this village would love to be in your shoes!”

            _I don’t wear shoes!_ “I don’t underst—”

            “But then again,” Lobelia said, still not paying a lick of attention to Bilbo, “just look at me!”

            Bilbo couldn’t help but look. Normally green and yellow went perfectly lovely together. However, Lobelia’s outfit was of such shockingly, bright versions of these colors, it was all Bilbo could do to look at her and not have a seizure. And her hat; had someone fashioned it around an upturned cooking-pot and smacked it on Lobelia’s head? And the flowers; they exploded from the top of the hat like fireworks!   With all things considered, Lobelia’s mousey brown hair in huge ringlets was actually rather tame in comparison – not great, mind you, but tolerable. “You are ...” _nauseating,_ “... a vision.” _That’s one way to put!_

Lobelia smiled her oily smile. “That’s very true!” Lobelia moved quite close and asked, “You know what this home needs?”

            _And escape route?_   It seemed such an abrupt change in topic, but Bilbo went with it.  “I’m sure I’m about to find out.”

            “A family,” Lobelia batting her eyelashes.

            “It has one,” Bilbo stated, confused.

            “I mean a bigger one.”

            “A bigger one?”

            “A big family with dogs.”

            “So ... you think I should adopt a pregnant bitch?”

            Lobelia laughed again. “Not a family _of_ dogs, but a family _with_ dogs!”

            What was Bilbo missing? “Mum’s allergic to dogs.”

            Lobelia batted her eyes again. “I’m not.”

            “Yes, but ... you don’t live here.”

            “Not yet! But how else we will have half a dozen little ones?!”

            “Dogs?”

            “Children!”

            _OH ... MY ... G—_ “Lobelia, I—”

            “I can imagine it too!”

            Bilbo started backing up again. Towards the door.

            “I think eight will do.”

            “Are we back to the dogs?!”

            “No, silly! Children! But, of course, we will need an equal number of dogs as well.”

            “What in heaven’s name for?!”

            “Well,” Lobelia said, keeping pace with Bilbo. “We have to have a dog for each child! You don’t expect them to share, do you?!”

            _Oh, yes. Heaven forbid they aren’t selfish like their mother!_ Bilbo backed right up against the door; Lobelia right pressed right up against him. “Lobelia, it’s such a lovely thought.”

            “Is it?” Lobelia cooed.

            _No._ “But to be honest ...” Bilbo groped for the doorknob behind him. “I just don’t ... don’t deserve you!”

            Bilbo turned the knob and the door swung open, wide and fully. He had a good hold on the door himself but Lobelia had been using Bilbo as her crutch and she now found that instead of his waistcoat to grip, she was holding on to nothing but air. She stumbled out of the smial, her arms flailing for anything to hold on and her feet slapping against the steps in her attempt to find sure footing, but in the end, it was the ground that stopped her forward momentum; she face-planted right into a large puddle.

            Bilbo had already slammed the door and Lobelia was treated to the sound of the door locking as she pulled herself up and out of the mud.

            “Oh dear ... trouble in paradise?” Helga Chubb stated sweetly, with a smirk, as she came down the lane.

            Lobelia wiped a large glob of mud from her face and threw it on the ground at Helga’s feet. “You mark my words,” Lobelia spat out with the mud in her mouth. “I _will_ be Mistress of Bag End, if it’s the last thing I do, so help me over his dead body!”

            As Lobelia marched off, Helga just shook her head. “He’d probably prefer it if he were dead.”

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

            It was two hours before Bilbo had enough courage to stick his face out of his door and look about.

            _Is she gone?_ Oh, he hoped so. He also hoped that her little dive into the ditch had finally gotten the message across to her that he was just not interested. Sadly, he knew that his hope was in vain.

            _Why must it be me?_   Well, that was just a stupid question; he knew perfectly well why she had her sights set on him. But what was to be done?

            Bilbo sighed and sat on the garden bench. All he wanted was a quite life; read a few good books, write some half-decent poetry, drink lovely tea, make tasty snacks and live in peace with the rest of the world! Was that too much to ask?! The last thing he wanted was some nasty, upsetting adventure into ‘marriage-land’ with a disagreeable, vain, selfish, grasping, greedy, obnoxious person!

            There was the sound of hooves and frantic whinny of a pony, when suddenly, from around the bend, came Myrtle, galloping madly towards Bag End.

            “Whoa, girl!” Bilbo shouted, jumping up and grabbing Myrtle’s reins. The poor pony bore scratches and bruises and it was clear she was more than a little frightened. But something very important was missing. “Where’s Mum?!”

            Myrtle brayed but there was obviously only one thing to do.

            “You must take me to her!” Bilbo said, climbing onto Myrtles back. He could only imagine his mother lying hurt and suffering at the side of the road, all alone and needing Bilbo.

            Myrtle stamped and pulled but truly didn’t protest more than that before she turned and headed back they say she came.

 

 

 


	6. The Lonely Mountain

* * *

 

            Helga Chubb was not a particularly nice woman. She wasn’t mean, per se, nor was she nasty. She didn’t plot against her neighbors and or seek revenge; those things were for lesser Hobbits. However, she wasn’t one to rush to anyone’s aid either. Those that fell on hard times were on their own should they come seeking help at her door; their misfortunes were due to their own poor decisions and therefore were their own fault, she would say. As such, she cared little of Lobelia’s schemes to become Mistress of Bag End and thus was neither a help nor a hindrance.

            Of course, none that meant she was above teasing.

            “Feeling better?” Helga asked with a rather saccharine smile as she slid up next to Lobelia, who was waiting in line at the Green Dragon’s counter.

            “Why wouldn’t I be?” Lobelia replied with a shrug. Looking for all the world as indifferent as she pretended to be.

            But Helga knew better. “One doesn’t normally see you in here for dinner. So naturally I can only assume you burned your roast?”

            Lobelia turned and gave her ‘friend’ a glare, clearly unhappy at being seen through. “I was very angry earlier! And rightfully so! Therefore I can be forgiven one small transgression!”

            Helga’s smile turned smug. “Naturally.” She almost laughed aloud. “But I doubt burning dinners will get you far into Bilbo Baggins’ good graces.”

            Lobelia once again turned a pinched, heated glare towards Helga, but it wasn’t necessarily Helga that had her hot. “Bilbo Baggins! I’m getting tired of having to wait on that imbecile to figured out that I’m perfect for him!”

            “For him?” Helga asked, obviously knowing the answer already. “Or for his house?”

            Lobelia rolled her eyes. “Same thing.” Lobelia was nothing if she wasn’t determined. “It’s the best family clan, the best smial, the best view, the best of everything and since I am the best woman in this town, I deserve to be Mistress of that house!”

            Helga fought down a chuckle. “Not while Belladonna lives and breaths.”

            Lobelia wrinkled her nose. “Don’t say that name!”

            “Oh, I’m sure I’m very sorry.” Helga didn’t look the least bit sorry. “But there is simply no way in all that is green and good for you to be Bag End’s reigning queen as long as she is in the picture. And since the Tooks are known to be long lived, I doubt she will be passing on to The Ever Green Fields anytime soon.”

            Lobelia cocked an eyebrow, and said dryly, “Don’t I know it.”

            “I’d give up if I were you.”

            “Well you aren’t me! And I refused to believe there isn’t some way for me to have my cake and eat it too!”

            “Even if she did suffered an ... _untimely demise_ ... I doubt Bilbo would ever bring anyone else in that house!”

            Lobelia sighed, clearly drawing the same conclusion.

            “It’s a pipe dream, Lobelia.”

            “I refused to be defeated!”

            “The bottom line; Bilbo has shown _zero_ inclination to marry you or any one.”

            Lobelia suddenly gasped, as a light went off in her feverish, fiendish brain. “That’s it!”

            Helga was at a total loss. “What’s _‘it?’_ ”

            Lobelia’s expressed turned sly. “I don’t have to necessarily marry Bilbo to get what I want.”

            Helga did laugh. “And how do you work that out?!”

            “Easy,” Lobelia said, smiling wickedly. “All I have to do it get rid of Belladonna and Bilbo and the smial will be free!”

            “You’d have a better chance getting a pig to sing,” Helga replied. “But even if you were to pull off the impossible, the smial will go to Bilbo’s closest _male_ relative, not to you.”

            Lobelia nodded vigorously. “I know, right? Brilliant isn’t it?”

            Helga didn’t see it. “Are you sure you aren’t the one that’s mad?”

            Lobelia’s smile turned sweet; if still completely insincere. “I’m sure. You see, Otho Sackville-Baggins is Bilbo’s closest male relative.” Lobelia pointed across the great room to where Otho was sitting alone. “His closest ... unattractive ... unintelligent ... unassuming ... _unattached_ ... male relative I’d like to point out.”

            Helga got it now. “And you think if you ... _ingratiate_ yourself to Otho, you will be Mistress of Bag End when he inherits?”

            Lobelia’s smiled widely; that was exactly what she thought.

            “It won’t work.”

            “Why not?!”

            “As I pointed out, there is still the ... _minor matter_ ... of Belladonna and Bilbo standing in your way.”

            Lobelia cocked an eyebrow. “One step at a time.”

            Both women had reached the counter and ordered. Lobelia took her tray of beef stew, thick sliced bread, and ale, and moved across the room; Otho firmly in her sights.

            “Is this seat taken?” Lobelia asked with all the sweetness she could muster.

            Otho Sackville-Baggins looked up, startled, spoon frozen at his lips as he was about to take a bit of his own stew. So stunned, he didn’t even notice he was dribbling down his chin.

            But Lobelia did; she balanced her tray on one hand and with the other, took her napkin and wiped Otho’s chin for him. Batting her eyes the whole time.

            “Do you mind if I join you?” Lobelia asked sweetly. Otho shook his head but Lobelia had already taken the seat across from him. “I’ve been wanting to dine with you for the longest time, Otho.”

            Otho blinked, his unprepossessing face drained of color, leaving it blotchy and even more unappealing. “You ... you ... you have?!”

            Lobelia nodded, demurely. “Of course! Why, what woman wouldn’t?”

            Otho had no answer to that; no woman had ever gone out of her way to talk to him, let alone dine with him. “I don’t see you in here ... much.” Otho said, gulping.

            Lobelia shrugged. “I had the overwhelming feeling that something special awaited for me and I was compelled to seek it. Then, when I walked in and saw you ... well, I knew I was right.”

            Otho blinked rapidly. “Really?!”

            Lobelia nodded again, taking delicate nibbles of her stew. “Do you eat here often?”

            Otho blushed. “Occasionally. I’m not much of a cook.”

            “Oh, no!” Lobelia said dramatically and holding out her spoon for Otho to take a bite from; he did. “You should have someone to care and cook for you!”

            Otho released a hollow laugh. “I’d need a wife for that!”

            Lobelia smiled. “Yes ... I know.”

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

            _Perhaps this wasn’t the best route to take after all._

            Bilbo had urged Myrtle on, even when the poor pony had been reluctant, but he had also insisted that she take them to his mother the fastest way possible. He ignored the darkening sky and the murky forest and the ominous silence, devoid of any sound of life.   He had been determined!

            Now he was scared. 

            They were surrounded by spiders; huge, ugly, nasty spiders. Bilbo and Myrtle had made a run for it, but the creatures cut them off here and there and drove them to a clearing that had only one outlet; the one they came through.        

            Bilbo would have been a fool not to be scared; he could feel Myrtle was. However, once more, determination kicked in and Bilbo would not waste any more time; his mother needed him and he wasn’t going to let a bunch of – _bugs_ – no matter how big, stand in his way!

            Bilbo picked up a large branch and held it tightly. Quickly, one of the largest spiders charged forward and Bilbo took a swing at it, knocking a pincher away and bring the branch back around to whack the creature square in the face. It retreated, but a second spider moved in to take its place. Bilbo again knocked away a reaching leg, but this time the thing was ready; clearly anticipating Bilbo’s backswing. When the branch came back around, it grabbed it with it’s powerful jaws, tugging and pulling, wrestling with Bilbo back and forth, until Bilbo lost his grip and tumbled to the ground; defenseless.

            The spiders advanced, even as Myrtle stood over Bilbo, protectively; the eight-legged beasts cared little. They seemed to laugh with their hissing. And Bilbo thought it was the end.

            Suddenly there was a whistle on the air; an arrow cutting through the mist. The lead spider dropped dead when an arrow shaft seemed to blossom out of the back of it’s hairy head. There were more whistles and _‘thwacks’_ as arrows flew from all directions and spiders fell one by one. With little choice, the remaining spiders scuttled, screaming, in to the darkening forest. In what seemed only moments later, Bilbo and Myrtle were left alone and stunned in the now abandoned glade.

            “Only a fool would be out here at this time of night,” said a quiet, but slightly arrogant voice out in the darkness.

            Bilbo, now standing, bristled at the comment. “You’re out here ... so what does that make you then?”

            “Smart enough to carry a weapon.”

            Bilbo rolled his eyes, not caring if the other person saw or not. “Hobbits don’t carry weapons.”

            “Then it is lucky for you, half-ling, that Elves do.”

            Bilbo spun around and behind him stood a tall, green-clad Elf with long blond hair and a rather smug expression; Bilbo was unimpressed. “I will have you know, Master Elf, that I am not _half_ of anything!”

            The Elf didn’t seem to hear Bilbo, or else didn’t care what Bilbo said. “What are you doing here?”

            _Trading words with a conceited bastard apparently_. “I’m looking for my mother.”

            “Your mother?”

            _Yavanna help me! Is he deaf as well as stuck-up?_ “That’s what I said.”

            “You are mistaken, friend. We have seen no other half-ling come through here.”

            “Well, _friend_ ..." Bilbo spat out the word, "my pony knows the way and she had led me here.”  At that Myrtle stamped the ground and whined, pulling on her reigns that Bilbo held tight in his hands.  “Wait ...” Bilbo just caught what the Elf said. “Who is, ‘we?’” The Elf motioned with his head and when Bilbo turned the other way, he saw not one, not two, but six other Elves.

            “When did you last see your mother?” Asked a redheaded Elf-maiden.

            “Three days ago,” Bilbo said. “She left Hobbiton about mid-day”

            “And what business had she to enter our forest?” Asked the blond Elf.

            Bilbo didn’t care for his tone. “Now see here! She came looking to do business with your stupid king!”

            “This isn’t the way to the kingdom,” the Elf said, ignoring the slight against his ruler.

            “Well, maybe if you had signs in this blasted, spider-infected forest,” Bilbo stated, “she might not have gotten lost!”

            “And had she not come into our _spider-infected_ forest in the first place she wouldn’t have gotten lost!”

            “Oh, really?!” Bilbo gestured at the trees. “Well, maybe if did a better job cleaning up this place, there wouldn’t be spiders in the first place!”

            That seemed to touch nerve with the Elf. “And maybe the next time a witless half-ling enters our realm, we’ll just let the spiders have their way with him!”

            “Legolas!” said the Elf-maiden. “Mani naa lle umien?”

            The Elf relaxed and, after a few more moments of exchanging heated glares with Bilbo, nodded and looked away.

            But Bilbo wasn’t finished. “I guess I’m safe to assume you won’t help me.”

            The blond Elf looked as if he had more than one thing to say on that, but instead, “As we told you, we have not seen her.”

            “And you have no hint or suggestion on where she might be?” Bilbo demanded.

            “Most likely dead,” the Elf stated flatly.

            “I won’t believe that!” Bilbo just wouldn’t accept that answer.

            “If she miraculously avoided the spiders,” said the Elf-maiden, “and continued on, then she would have ended up at—”

            “She’s dead!” The Elf insisted.

            “No!” Bilbo shouted.

            “In the off chance she survived, she may have made it to Erebor.”

            The Elf spat on the ground. “If she did, then she’s as good as dead.”

            “Wait.” Bilbo was confused. “What did she mean? What’s Erebor?”

            “A pile of rock,” the Elf said with a sneer. “Nothing more.”

            “A solitary mountain,” the Elf-maiden clarified, then pointed out of the clearing and to the path that led off to the right.   “Continue on that road. It will take you out of the forest the quickest and lead you almost to Erebor’s door.”

            “And you think she is there?” Bilbo asked, climbing up on Myrtle’s back.

            “If she survived,” the Elf-maiden nodded, “that would be the most likely place she’d be.”

            “It is pointless to hope.” The blond Elf leaned on his longbow like a staff.

            Bilbo wasn’t to have it. “Unlike you, I still have a heart and therefore hope.”

            Tugging on Myrtle’s reigns, Bilbo guided them out of the clearing and down the path the redheaded Elf-maiden directed. A quick glance back confirmed what he suspected; the Elves had melted back into the darkness. Yet he doubted they were gone; more likely following him.           

            He didn’t care.

            Eventually, In what seemed like forever, the forest did thin out. In no time after that, the road rounded a small bend and the forest ended. Just as he had been told, there before him, some distance away, lit only by the light of a full moon, stood a tall, imposing, solitary mountain.

            Erebor. The Lonely Mountain.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I will be play fast and loose with canon. So, in other words, don't expect me to be sticking to much canon! LOL


End file.
